


Dry Clothes

by Senei



Category: Dragon Age II, dragon - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 15:09:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6709882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senei/pseuds/Senei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris shows up at Hawke's mansion in Hightown during a storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dry Clothes

**Author's Note:**

> A follow-up to [Damp Clothes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5600077).

Hawke was sprawled on his bed. He listened to rain patter on the window and was glad he had no errands to run that evening. He didn’t relish the idea of getting soaked through in the downpour, quite content to spend the evening in bed doing not much of anything. The manor was empty, for once, as his small gaggle of tenants had gone out for the evening and left him alone - at his insistence. Only the dog remained at home, but she was quite content to lay curled up in front of the fireplace. It had been some time since he’d had peace and quiet, without someone barging in and disturbing him. Since his mother had… Well, people had been hesitant to leave him alone. He understood the sentiment, but sometimes he simply wished for a few moments to think. 

Rain turned into a storm as Hawke lay in bed. Bertrand and the others would be fine out there, he reassured himself, as they’d gone to the Hanged Man. If they were trapped overnight, Varric would make sure they got lodgings. However, this meant that Hawke would have to get his evening meal himself. The one downside to being on his own. 

He was half-way through assembling a meal out of leftovers - cold game fowl, a thick slice of bread, fancy cheese that had apparently come all the way from Orlais - when there was a knock at the kitchen door. Hawke set down his knife and stared at it, one hand still on the block of cheese. He wasn't sure he'd heard it properly, it could have been the sound of the on-going storm playing a trick on him, but after a few moments the knock came again, this time it was more insistent. 

“I'm coming!” Hawke said. He wiped his hands of cheese bits on his tunic and went over to the door. “If you're here to rob me, I should let you know that I have a very large dog-” 

Who was currently sleeping upstairs, in front of the hearth, but Hawke left that bit out. 

He pulled the door open a crack to peer out, and immediately opened it all the way. Standing on the back stoop, soaked through from the downpour, was Fenris. He wasn't wearing his armour, though his leather trousers and thick doublet gave him some protection. They were dripping wet, as was the rest of him; his hair was plastered to his face. 

“Hawke,” Fenris mumbled in greeting. 

Hawke stood aside to let him in, and the elf shuffled over the threshold into the warm, dry kitchen. “What are you doing here? I don't know if you'd noticed, but it's raining out.” 

“Very funny,” Fenris grumbled. He started to brush water off his sleeves. “... The mansion leaks. I grew tired of being dripped on, and used that as an excuse to come here.”

Colour flooded Hawke’s cheeks, and he couldn't help his grin. “Well, would you like to eat? I'm having…” he gestured at the assortment of food he'd been putting together. “This.”

Fenris eyed the food, then looked down at his clothing, which was dripping on the kitchen’s stone floor. “Perhaps I could borrow a towel first? I fear your mother’s ghost will come and haunt me if I drip on her floor…” 

Hawke must have made a face at that comment, because Fenris’ eyes went wide and he rubbed at his sleeve. “I apologize, that joke may have been-” 

“It’s fine,” Hawke said. “It’s better than all the other’s tiptoeing around the subject. Towel, dry clothes? I can lend you some.” 

This was familiar to Hawke, but unlike times in the past when it had happened Fenris did not shy away. He didn’t look like he might bolt out the door if someone around him made too sudden of a move. Instead, he nodded with some confidence and followed Hawke out of the kitchen, back up to Hawke’s bedroom. The only reason Fenris walked with some caution appeared to be in an attempt to dislodge as little water from his clothes as possible. 

It was amusing to watch, and Hawke kept looking back over his shoulder. 

Hawke pushed open the door to his room and immediately the dog bounded to her feet and ran over to Fenris, pushing her nose into his hands to demand pets. Fenris chuckled and complied, scratching behind the mabari’s ears. “Your very large dog is very threatening, Hawke,” Fenris said as the dog licked his hands. 

“I’ve been betrayed,” Hawke muttered sullenly. “Lockjaw likes you better than me.”

Fenris rolled his eyes, and it made Hawke’s heart flutter just a bit. Even he could not believe how smitten he was with the elf, sometimes, that even the slightest bit of familiarity could get this sort of reaction out of him. He sighed at himself.

“Hawke, I do not wish to complain,” Fenris cut into his thoughts, “but I would prefer not to catch a cold.” 

“Of course.” Hawke stumbled over himself as he went to his dresser, and yanked open the doors. He rummaged through the clothing until he found something that, at a guess, would not completely drown Fenris in fabric if he were to wear it. 

He paused when he got to the trousers. “I’m afraid you’ll trip over these,” he said as he held up a pair.

Fenris came over, Lockjaw followed behind him, and he looked at the trousers Hawke was holding up. “I am not that much shorter than you, Hawke,” he commented, then added, “And I do not plan to do much walking.”

“I can carry you down the stairs so you don’t trip.” The words tumbled out of Hawke’s mouth before he could stop himself. Inwardly, he wanted to scream, but outwardly he thought he managed to remain cool, and collected. “Or lend you a belt,” he added, to cover his blunder. 

Though he needn’t have, as Fenris chuckled. Low in his throat, deep, it made Hawke’s skin crawl with want and affection well up once again in his heart. 

“That won’t be necessary, Hawke,” Fenris paused to smile, “But thank-you for the offer.” 

Hawke nodded. Before he could say anything else to thoroughly embarrass himself, he shoved the clothing at Fenris and bustled towards the door. He called to Lockjaw as he went. “I’ll go set out another place at the table. Come down to the kitchen when you are done!” 

He caught Fenris’ confused glance, and the brisk nod, before he shut the door behind himself. He paused on the landing for a moment, and absently patted Lockjaw on the head when she came over to investigate him. Once he had recovered himself, he took the stairs two at a time down to the kitchen to lay out a plate and dish out food for Fenris. While he had been glad to be left alone for the evening, if there was one person whose company he could not begrudge, it was Fenris. In fact, he welcomed it. 

He was so glad that Fenris was talking to him again, after what had happened between them. 

“You look pensive,” Fenris said to announce his presence. Hawke turned, and found him standing in the doorway. Dressed in Hawke’s clothing, he looked disheveled. The shirt he’d pulled out from the dresser was a mustard yellow with a slightly darker collar, and Hawke immediately had to stop himself from laughing. 

Fenris tugged the shirt away from his chest, then let it fall back in place. “I considered getting a different one, but I suppose someone has to wear it.”

“I’m so sorry,” Hawke apologized. “We could trade?” 

He gestured to his own, red tunic.

“A kind offer, but I believe I can survive this ordeal,” Fenris said with another chuckle. “Though, I am curious as to where you acquired this shirt.” 

Hawke thought about it for a moment. He couldn’t remember clearly. “I believe it was picked up when we first came to Kirkwall. Money was tight, and… Well, as you can guess, it was cheap.” 

“... You kept it?” 

Hawke’s cheeks flushed. “I have a hard time letting things go,” Hawke muttered. 

Fenris surveilled Hawke. His lips were a thin line, his eyes contemplative. “I am glad,” Fenris said eventually. “Perhaps if you had an easier time of it, I would not be so lucky to still be in your company…” 

That hurt Hawke. He knew Fenris saw it in his face, as he saw the elf draw back slightly, as if he regretted his words. 

“Fenris,” Hawke said, before he could start to blame himself for what had obviously been intended as a joke. “You know I would never cast you aside.” 

He took a gamble, and stepped forward so that he could reach out and press his palm to Fenris’ cheek. Fenris’ eyes went wide, briefly clouded by fear that Hawke had not seen in them in a long time, until it melted away. Fenris pressed back, let his eyes close, and dropped his guard. They stood still for a few moments and each inspected the other’s face, with no shame. But still, Fenris was first to drop his gaze. 

Hawke wanted to say something, after he’d gone to the trouble of touching Fenris’ face, but Fenris beat him to it. 

“I am glad to know you do not equate me to a mustard coloured tunic,” he huffed. 

Hawke burst out laughing. He tugged his hand away, covering his face with both of them as his shoulders shook, and he tried to keep himself from entering a full-on fit of laughter. When he recovered, he found Fenris smirking at him, and grinned back. “No, you are at least worth one of my red, silk ones.” 

This time, Fenris laughed, and Hawke joined in. 

“Perhaps we should sit down and eat,” Hawke suggested. “Before this conversation gets even more ridiculous.” 

“That would be smart,” Fenris agreed. He followed Hawke to the table, but caught Hawke’s eye as they sat down and smiled fondly at him. “Thank-you for your hospitality, Hawke.”

Hawke smiled back at him. He offered Fenris a plate with the Orlesian cheese on it, and said, “Any time, Fenris.”


End file.
